This poem was written by a Mother as she went through the trials and turmoils of raising her daughter. These are her precious memories and dreams.


Those hands were a baby's,
when first I touched,
they reached for mine,
so tightly they clutched.
And just as tightly
they clung to mine,
when that baby took a step
for the very first time.

Those hands were a toddler's,
when they reached out for mine;
so often I was elated.
As many a kiss I did bestow,
to God I prayed and stated,
"Keep those hands so close to mine,
so safe and so secure."
And those hands were so excited
as they clapped when they turned four.

Those hands were a child's,
still small clasped in mine,
when on our daily rides,
we'd laugh and sing
out songs real loud,
sitting side by side.
You're in God's hands now,
I assured myself,
as those hands waved by
at the door to their class.
When they came back home,
the first place they'd roam
, was to mine
and held tightly fast.

Those hands were a young girl's,
they reached for mine less often,
and I wondered if something was the matter.
I told myself it's a part of growing up,
but my heart did a small pitter-patter.

Those hands were a teenager's,
who resisted mine.
My own woman's hands
shook a very long time.
I have cried so many tears
since then and will cry
so many more.
I tried to hold tight,
but to no avail,
those hands walked out the door.

Those hands that day seemed older,
almost like the woman
you were about to become,
Your face,
you've turned away from me,
my heart broke
and I felt numb.

I wish I could have looked into your eyes
I was afraid of what I'd see.
But those hands you know,
they gave you away,
the words they spoke were free.

They said,
"I don't need you,
then again maybe I do,
I'm very confused you see."
I saw them trembling
as you pulled away,
those hands,
they needed me.
They longed to be held
securely in mine,
gently and never let go.
But the confused woman- to- be,
just shook her head,
and stuck by her little show.

Oh, I long for the day,
just to caress those hands
and whisper it will be all right.
But this woman- to-be,
she took those hands,
and again was gone into the night

She'll come back some day
with a wave of those hands.
I know it as
I know my own heart
Because I'm praying to God,
every step of the way,
for us to have a brand new start.

There will come a time,
when those hands will look fine,
with a brand new band of gold.
Then she'll wave at me,
with a look of glee and with her husband
I pray will grow old.


Oh, those hands were a baby's,
clinging just like its mother's.
They were so soft,
so tiny, so fine.

And as those woman's hands
reached for the baby's,
her one reached out for mine.

Liza Ambrico Romano

This is dedicated to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who has guided me through the years and to my loving daughter Stephanie.

Please do not copy this poem without the signed permission of the author.
Thank you.